


Suns Crepuscular

by Tribs



Series: No Longer in Progress Series Parts [7]
Category: Invisible Sun (Roleplaying Game), The Strange (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Adult Language, Alcohol, Gen, Kidnapping, Memory Loss, Opens in 1990s Romania, Planar Travel, Small Allusion to Ceaușescu, Swearing, Vreva and Notil are girlfriends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-08-18 20:02:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20197363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tribs/pseuds/Tribs
Summary: 1993. Central Romania.A rental car struggles to a city 337 kilometres from Bucharest.A trans man of some 50 years drinks alone in a hotel room.Everyone involved is a practitioner.(The Invisible Sun corebooks are still behind a hefty paywall, so I'll be using the Notes section in each chapter to sum up any referenced vanilla content. <3 )





	1. Vreva

“Do we know where he’s at?”

“Mostly. Client gave us a description and a name. Thinks he’s in one of the towns along a river called the Mureș. ‘Back to where he came from’ situation.”

“Right. He slippery, or just low profile?”

“Probably both, going by how she described him.”

“She paid well. Normally the higher payouts are the easier ones.”

“Here’s hoping.”

* * *

The car clawed its way along, the dash flashing a three-pronged symbol at us as its metallic organs groaned and bucked. Notil tried to goad it on further, muttering strained words of encouragement, hands gripped tight to the control ring. 

But it was, ultimately, not to be.

The beast puttered off to the roadside, sinking against where the vegetation encroached the hardened tar, and she huffed.

“They need to graze so damn often.”

“We’ve been pushing it.”

_ “One _ mountain. The handler told me it was sturdy!”

I had been in the business longer, and knew about things like altitude, which made entities expire more quickly. Something about the stomach.

“Maybe if you had packed more food.”

_ “Maybe if you had packed more food,” _ she echoed in falsetto as she pushed the door open and stepped out.

I followed suit. “Just going on foot from here?”

“Yeah.”

We walked a ways, plodding along the winding road above the city, before a small roadside crowd caught my eye and gave me reason to pause. Notil stopped a few paces later, and backtracked to join me.

“What’re they saying?”

They were fussing with a metal roadsign, and I scanned the two slats that were already fixed: 

_ Tîrgu Mureș _

_ Marosvásárhely - Neumarkt am Mieresch _

The panel half-fastened below them added an almost-identical _ ‘Târgu Mureș,’ _ which felt distinctly spiteful.

The insectoid that held purchase through my sinuses hummed in my ear, whispering back the words of their conversation and injecting them underneath my tongue.

“... They’re complaining about the pain of new spelling ordinances.”

“Can’t really blame them, what with us and all. Hendasa, Hindasah, Handasa...”

“Mhm.” I rolled my tongue up against my palate, hurrying the spread of the language, then hailed them.

“Gentlemen! Good afternoon! Where might I find a ‘Domnul Vasovic?’”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Hendasa are a group that has no central leadership, motive, or unified method for spelling their name. The only consistent point among them is that they focus on extracting Vislae (entities who practice magic) from the Grey (Invisible Sun's term for Earth.)
> 
> I am tweaking their radius, due to the difference in cosmology. In this, Vislae is just a term for the collective group of magic-trained practitioners, and as such could be from any number of non-human worlds.


	2. Vreva

“What year is it?”

I squinted at the building’s address plate, decided it wasn’t the right one, then looked back. “1990, or so.”

Notil swiped her thumb against the handheld device, something from a later Earth period - 20-something, management had said - which she used to sift through their version of the Noö. “This area had some messed up shit happen to it.”

“Mhm.”

“This one guy, Nicolae Ce-”

“Not right now.”

“Sh. I just think it’s sad that this guy escaped the War back home, only to end up in an equally bad - honestly, _ worse _ \- one here.”

“It didn’t sound like he vanished of own doing. But yeah. Totalitarianism is a pattern this world keeps falling into, and it’s never pretty to see.”

“Not even nice to visit.”

“Not even nice to visit, no.”

* * *

We found the building on the scribbled address, and a probably reason for his elusion clicked. It was run-down, barely recognizable from the street as a bookshop, with the actual entrance tucked away diagonal to the alley.

A sign, painted black and carved like a rabbit, boasted the word _ Sicomor _ in faded silver script. A smaller sign on the door read _ Closed_, but trying the door proved that it hadn’t been locked.

The front desk was unattended, beyond the heavy presence of smoke and a rusted bell for assistance. We ignored it in favor of probing through the stacks, wincing at the creak of loose floorboards and the loud tick of an unseen clock.

I stopped at a nook of shelves and jerked a thumb towards a door crudely set back in the wall, whispering. “Staff room, looks like. Hopefully he’s in here.”

“Worst comes to worst, we just wait for him to show up.”

“True.”

“Have you got the pamphlet?”

I nodded, tugged a copy of _ ‘So You’ve Just Returned From Exile’ _ out of my binder, and flashed it to her. “Ready?”

She straightened, nodded, and I hammered my fist against the flimsy door.

Nothing.

I tried again, then a third, before the latch clicked and a harsh blue eye appeared, serenaded by the smell of cheap alcohol.

“Hello!” Notil started, cheerful, until he cut in.

“Fuck off.”

We cast each other sidelong glances. _ Charming. _

“Well-”

“I don’t go to church. Just wasting your time. Like every time.”

He shut himself in again, and the locks clicked. 

“... Does he mean the Invisible Church _ entirely, _ like an Apostate, or-”

“I think he meant the Orthodox one.”

“Oh.”

She tapped her fingers against each other, thinking, before she plucked the pamphlet out of my hands and pushed it under the door. 

There was a sigh, and the sound of something scraping, then the door opened more than before. He was scrawny, pale in a malnourished sort of way, his long hair and short beard both unkempt, his clothes grimy. He clutched the handle of an umbrella in one hand, but didn’t look overtly aggressive with it; his other hand held the pamphlet.

She brightened at the sight of him, like we’d made some progress, which died off as soon as he crammed the packet into his mouth. 

“Paper really isn’t-”

“Fuc ew.”

He moved to slam the door shut again, but we were ready for it this time. Her foot caught the base and the wood splintered, rippling out in waves that spun into strands and crawled out against the interior wall, spitting petals like spiders spat silk. 

He made a noise - not quite a scream, but not just an inhale - and balked back, wild-eyed, holding the brush across his chest like a shield. A draft shook the dim room, stirring a cluster of bottles. He snatched one off the dresser and lobbed it our way, scrambling backwards onto the cot and pressing his back against the small window.

She grabbed the front of his shirt and drug him away from the latch, tossing him to the floor with a deft shove. I collected the thrown bottle and crouched down next to them, plucking its neck off before unrolling the glass and re-fastening it around where she forced his wrists together.

“If you’d just read the pamphlet-”

_ “Eat my ass-” _

“Oh _ stop.” _

I sighed and helped her hoist him up. “He’s worse than you are, isn’t he?”

“I might try to curb it back.”

“Heard that one before. Keep him steady.”

* * *

We’d had to take several towns into account on the uncertain way here, but for the return we could be direct. The closest rift went through a sliver of a world - an unsettling sea of bland monotones, a slate where shadows and congealed lies dripped and oozed like saliva - but the path back to the city was still faster than if we’d wrangled the mountain again.

We kept him strapped down in the back seat, half-covered by the blanket we’d draped over him with while soliciting the locals for car drink.

He hadn’t been quiet during it, but they bought the ‘ornery cat’ story well enough.

_ “And you fucking-” _

“Can’t we shut him up?”

“I didn’t bring a gag. Figured he’d be more…”

“Willing?”

“Willing, yes.”

“Looks like we’re close. Do you have the key?”

I nodded, squinting and wheeling the car in the direction she pointed.

The rift-marker poked out against the landscape, a dull concrete pillar of a tree slathered with pasted-on spelltags and bound in red string. The keyhole set halfway up would bring us back to Satyrine’s underbelly, if the chart read right.

She pulled the matching key off my ring set, leaned out the window, and jammed it into the lock as we passed. 

With an influx of weightlessness, the ground beneath the tires churned and rippled, pooling outwards into slick cobblestone roads glistening with runoff and ash.

The air was cool, damp, far less stale; a welcome change.

I heard the other two arrive behind me, and it didn’t sound graceful.

The back door flew open and feet hit pavement.

I inhaled and closed my eyes as the passenger door slammed, Notil in pursuit.

“... Fuck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Noösphere is a web of thoughts and concepts and memories that is parallel to an arcane internet.
> 
> The cosmology I'm using in this is vaguely closer to The Strange content than Invisible Sun content. Each world connects through nodes, in ways that can be physically mapped.


	3. Jo

Zero’s old neon sign flickered, a beacon on a misty night like this one, as I pushed through the doors into the dim, smoky atmosphere

There was the usual mess of a crowd inside, passing around swill and stirring up a right din, leaving just enough wayside room to navigate the sea of bodies. A blunt, soft object headbutted the lower half of my shin as I waded in, then made a croaking attempt at a _ mrrp. _

I crouched down to ruffle the snaggle-toothed mess of orange fur and dust that passed for a cat.

“Ay-o Ollie. Where’s the tick?”

He blinked once, flicked his tail, then lumbered off between the forest of legs. I stood back up and followed, shouldering by anyone who wouldn’t move quick enough.

“S’cuse mate, got a familiar to follow. S’cuse.”

A yellow-eyed horned spectacle choked on their drink as I brushed by, and I shot them an apologetic finger gun as they pulled a face at me.

“Sorry there, aye, old friend here.”

_ Unbunch yer pantyhose. _

I found him sitting at the bar, where Ollie hopped from the barstool to his slumped shoulders. Being back on Earth looked like it’d aged him hellishly, more than me, but he’d always been surley in his scrawny kinda way. Hair left loose in messy waves, what fingers he had left clamped around a bottle, his clothes clearly whatever he’d been wearing when they found him.

“Aye, fucker.”

He looked up, elliptical blue eyes adjusting, before relaxing in recognition. “Jo?”

“Damn right ye better remember.” I scrubbed his hair as I plopped down onto the next stool over. “Heard they managed to lose ye. Figured if I gave it a week or so, ye’d show hide ‘round here.”

“Fuckers drug my ass out.”

“Throwin’ shit at ‘em.”

He shrugged, not at all sorry.

I hailed the barkeep, rolled over a few orbs, and snagged a drink for myself. “See you remembered Ollie right quick-like.”

“Can’t forget my bastard.”

“Happy seein’ you?”

He nodded. “Made the rest easier. I’m still remembering things, but knew about him. Know about you.”

“They'll be spotty for a while. Still rememberin' fresh on my end, too, and I been back longer.”

He nodded again, took a swig, and rubbed his nose. “... Who’s Viorica?”

“Middlest sister.”

“She’s a bitch, isn’t she?”

“Oh, aye, the biggest. Woulda been a Vance if she’d left the mundane.”

“And a 'Vance' is... _ Was _the schooling shit?”

“Mhm. Went further n’ it than I did. Think ye were up on near second degree before fucking off to dabble with Goetics.”

He snorted into his drink. “I remember that too.”

“Fuckin’ better, summoning shit to damn near obliterate your anus.”

“And yours. Remembered that trade-off.”

_ Figures, tick. _“Trading favors, aye. Speaking of-” I pulled a cigarette pack out of my coat pocket and slid it over. “Got some-a yer old shit back at the house. Like that damn suitcase. Haven’t opened it since I got back.”

“Probably infested with… Some shit. Imps. Are imps-?”

“Imps’re the thing, aye.”

He frowned thoughtfully as he pressed the bottle opening back to his lips and tapped a few fingers against Ollie’s intrusive head.

“... Need a fuck.”

I choked, sending a mouthful of beer dangerously close to my nose, and struggled to wrangle it back down.

“I’m only saying. Saw some asshole made of tentacles, or some shit, earlier and-”

_ “Aye, _ Pict, I _ know.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zero's is a roving, ever-shifting nightclub/bar in the capital (Satyrine) of Indigo's nexus world.  
The club (barkeep and all) is the current form of a demonic entity, the proprietor of the establishment, who only manifests during the night and has an uncanny knack for showing up exactly where you're looking.
> 
> Vances are one of several arcane schools of thought, termed Orders. These Orders compose the 'Invisible Church' - so termed after the Invisible Sun, where magic is said to originate - with any Vislae not belonging to an order deemed Apostate (mentioned in the prior chapter).


End file.
